


The Damage Done

by Kkharrin



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Azure Moon Route, Frustration, Hate to Love, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Mutual Pining, Polyamory, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Recovery, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21910666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kkharrin/pseuds/Kkharrin
Summary: Felix didn’t expect to willingly lay down his life for his liege...but he definitely didn’t expect to survive it.Now, unable to drown his anxieties in training, he must navigate recovery and his new strange and confusing feelings for the two most important men in his life.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 9
Kudos: 135





	1. smoke and cinnamon

He remembered the thrum of wings, the surge of the breeze through his hair, the kiss of rain upon his face. Eyes shut, the sounds of battle were distant, muffled. The cry of steel upon steel, the sharp high keen of dark magic, the cloying scent of copper. His body felt unfathomably heavy, fingers trailing limply through the air. He heard his name on unfamiliar lips, felt the sudden jack knife in his stomach as the wyvern banked into a steep dive and then the darkness took him entirely. 

From there he remembered only fragments. The jostle of his body being hauled up into strong arms, the searing agony in his abdomen as he was moved, the shudder through his spine as he was carried at a run through corridors echoing with harried voices. 

Someone was calling his voice, softly at first, then with urgency. Hands cupped his face and he managed to open his eyes once, just once to see Mercie’s usually calm expression stricken and pale. 

‘Felix, I need you to stay with me...’ He tried so hard to focus, tried so hard to think of anything but the tearing pain in his gut, but her voice whispered off and he found himself once more in darkness. 

Waking was a slow process. 

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, deep within the cocoon of unconsciousness. More than once he’d been aware of voices at the peripheries of the darkness, of being moved, of agony so sharp his very blood had seemed to sing with it. Earth and loam, salt and iron, willow bark and medicinal alcohol. He lapsed in and out of utter oblivion, never quite finding the strength to wake, to open his eyes. 

As time passed the sounds became more distinct, a tapestry of interwoven voices so familiar they felt almost like the rhythmic beat of his heart. Gentle fingers intertwining with his own, a ghost like touch upon his forehead, the whisper of lips upon his hair. 

It became a ritual all of its own. The burning heat of healing magic tearing through his body, the unearthly terror that accompanied it, the abyss of exhaustion that followed, the hand that clasped in his own as if they knew it was the only thing coming between him and being lost in the dark. 

He couldn’t tell you if it was a matter of days or hours but next he woke the voices were clear, the words no longer a distant blur. His body felt deadened, dull. Leaden and beyond his control. 

‘With all due respect, your Highness.’ A voice drawled. ‘If you try to sleep on the floor one more time I will forcibly tie you to your bed.’ 

‘I’d like to see you try.’ A tired rasp of a voice, echoing in the chamber, followed by a huff of laughter. 

‘Can you at least try and eat something?’ That drawl again. Manuela he realised. 

‘Later...’ 

‘Your hi-...Dimitri,’ He could hear the nerves in Ashe’s voice, near vibrating with anxiety. ‘Can I get you something...so you don’t have to leave?’

‘No...’ A gravelly sigh. ‘I’m really not hungry.’ 

‘How do you expect to heal if you’re not eating and you’re not sleeping?’ Ingrid, blunt as always. 

‘All I care about is tearing that bastard limb from limb.’ A growl, more animal than human.

‘How does that help at all?’ A snarl of frustration. He knew who that was. 

He felt his lips moving before he even thought to speak.

‘Sylvain?’ 

There was a sudden rush of fabric, the clatter of boot heels against the flag stones, and he was breathing in air filled with the scent of smoke and cinnamon.

‘Felix?’ Sylvain sounded breathless, for some reason terrified. ‘Goddess, it’s good to hear you.’ 

‘Right, everyone out.’ He heard Manuela crow. ‘You can stay. You can stay if you promise not to enrage him.’ 

His eyes flickered open, wincing against the burn of the candlelight. He swallowed against the dry taste of vomit and ash upon his tongue, struggling to focus, gaze trembling over the vaults of the ceiling, until it came to rest on a pale memory of a face he thought he knew. 

‘Hey...’ Sylvain’s voice was soft, the softest he’d ever heard it. It scared Felix more than he liked to admit. 

His face was gaunt, cheekbones stark, eyes deep with shadow, the usually gleaming waves lank. 

‘You look like shit.’ His voice came out oddly, slurred as if he were drunk. 

‘Nice to see you too.’ Sylvain winced, easing himself down onto his knees. 

‘I feel weird.’ He whispered. 

‘You’re about 80% painkillers at the moment.’ Sylvain tried to smile but it came out more like a frown. ‘I’m surprised you’re even making sense.’ 

Abruptly he tried to move, each of his limbs seemingly under the control of an unrelated mind. Pain ripped through his abdomen, radiating up into his chest. His right arm felt heavy, unwieldy, his left hand digging tight into the sheets. 

‘Goddess!’ Sylvain swore as a low moan of pain broke between Felix’s teeth. ‘At least give me some warning before you start doing shit like that.’ 

Felix fought to get his breath back under his control. Each inhalation sent shards of pain into the side of his chest. He felt Sylvain’s large hand, warm and calloused upon the edge of his face. 

‘Hey...hey...’ He whispered, his other hand reaching to grab at Felix’s left hand, squeezing it tight. 

A second figure stepped into view and he blinked, surprised beyond all reason by how exhausted the usually pristine Manuela looked. 

‘Felix, do you know where you are?’ She asked, voice toneless. 

He let his gaze wander, over the ceiling, across the tapestries and bookshelves. A makeshift hospital of sorts...he shook his head. 

‘Do you know what happened?’ She continued, voice strangely soft. ‘Why you’re here?’ 

He swallowed, his mouth and throat so dry it felt as if it might close off entirely. He heard movement to his side, tried to turn his head but was rewarded with a sudden sharp burn of pain and clenched his eyes tight. 

When he opened them again it was to a shadow falling across him. Dimitri was limping heavily, leaning his weight against a broken length of lance. Half his head was bandaged, his eye patch off revealing the knotted scars beneath. His hair was loose about his face, darkened with soot and blood, his face smeared liberally with dirt and gore. 

Dimitri’s expression was strange, hollow. He stared at Felix as if truly seeing him for the first time. His lips parted, as if trying and failing to speak. 

Eventually, when the words tumbled from his lips, they were bemused and somewhat strangled. 

‘You almost died...saving me.’


	2. viscera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain remembers.

That evening Sylvain slept the sleep of the dead. He couldn’t bring himself to leave Felix’s room but, for those few hours, his bundled pile of blankets felt like the softest of down mattresses. 

Despite the low roar of the fire in the grate there was a chill in the air. This was some Alliance Lordling’s keep, commandeered by House Reigan for the war effort. This had been the library, floor to ceiling shelves laden with enough books to fill an archive. Tables and chairs were pushed up against the edges of the room to make space for a makeshift infirmary fit all for one. 

Sylvain blinked, watching his breath mist, listening to Felix’s breath draw in and out, tighter than usual, a short, pained sound. Above him was a wide window of leaded glass, moonlight pouring in across the flagstones and catching the edge of Felix’s hair with its kiss. 

When he had fallen asleep there had been a thin sliver of gold upon the horizon, tumbling into his blankets, his whole body beginning to crumble after the adrenaline left him. Now it was the small hours of the morning, the only sounds that of the guards walking the perimeter in constant metronomic motion. He felt awake. Truly awake. Not the half awareness of the last week, vision smeared with exhaustion, every sip of water like ash upon his tongue 

He pushed himself up on his hands, drawing one of the furs tight around his shoulders. Outside the blankets he truly felt the cold. The bite of a Fodlan winter. Without even really thinking he found himself standing, dragging a blanket from his pile over to the edge of Felix’s bed. He just...didn’t want him to be cold. 

He needn’t have worried, Mercedes had created a rather industrious little nest for her patient, a veritable bazaar of furs and wool and silks. He reached out a hand to adjust the edge of blanket, drawing it up to cover a sliver of Felix’s collarbone that had shrugged free from its warmth. 

He hated seeing him like this. 

Vulnerable was a word that he hadn’t been able to apply to Felix for a very long time. 

He remembered the Spring that Felix had turned eight, the two of them making it a competition to climb the tallest trees in the Palace grounds, scrambling up the rough bark until their palms bled. Felix had swayed on a branch a good fifteen feet from the ground, steadying himself to jump, Sylvain goading him to hurry up. He still remembered the sharp crack of Felix’s leg folding beneath him, his cry suddenly so frightened and childlike as he saw the bone jutting ragged under the skin of his ankle. Sylvain felt again the sudden nausea, the back of Glenn’s hand meeting his cheek with a reverberant snap, the chill in his chest as he’d seen the tears running thick down Felix’s face and he was unable to do anything to help...

He circled the bed, perching on the stool at its side. A glance showed him that Dimitri’s pallet was, surprisingly, empty. 

Felix looked bloodless in the moonlight, his black hair loose about him on the pillow, bruising marring the right side of his jaw, running down his neck beneath the blankets. The furs covered the damage. Covered the bandages that ran from his shoulders to his hips in an unbroken swathe and the heavy splinting that bound his fractured sword arm. 

Sylvain found his friend’s hand beneath the furs, looping his fingers between Felix’s, feeling the rough calluses and slender scars of swordplay across his pale skin. 

Felix shifted, a smear of sound escaping from between his lips, completely intelligible, but did not wake. 

Sylvain shuddered, clenching those thin fingers tight, remembering the hour seven days before when he’d once again been unable to do anything to help. Flush with bloodlust, his lance dancing in his hand, cleaving head from shoulders, ripping abdomens of their viscera, tearing air from lungs. He’d felt the air surge with the power he knew so well, the hard edge of reason, a cutting blade. Had turned to see Von Vestra’s hands twisting to make the sigils that would bring the heavens singing down to earth. He’d followed his gaze across the killing fields to his King, embroiled in a battle all of his own, Felix at his side, sword cleaving through the air. 

He’d brought his steed round sharply, thundering down enemies and allies alike but the air was already singing. He’d seen Felix’s head snap round, seen the realisation wash over his face as he felt the sky break and seen the decision, fragile at first then sharp as steel, as he turned and shoved Dimitri aside with the full force of his body. Dimitri had hit the ground, he’d heard roars of fear and Sylvain had screamed as he saw the meteor strike Felix with killing force. Around them the battle had continued as Sylvain had felt all the blood rush from his face. 

Felix’s blood had been in the air like mist. 

Riding forward, watching Dimitri struggle to sit, his legs half buried beneath Felix’s body, the meteor lying about them in heavy chunks, his hair blackened with soot and volcanic dust. Blood had already begun to pour down the side of his face from a wound at his hairline. He’d barely seemed to notice, his eye wide, fixed upon Felix who’d looked almost as if he’d been torn in two. 

Sylvain reached out a hand, resting it on the furs above Felix’s abdomen. The skin had been ripped from rib to opposite hip...everything had looked so...slick, glistening in the sunlight, impossible to tell what was viscera and what was blood pooling in the chasm where it had been displaced. He watched the rise and fall of Felix’s chest, now so steady. Tried not to think of the ragged, flailing movements of eight broken ribs...

Felix should have died.

There was no question about it. A gaping abdominal wound, a flail chest, an open compound forearm fracture...they should have been burying Felix. Between the blood loss, a punctured lung and the omnipresent risk of infection...Sylvain still couldn’t quite believe that Felix was here, with him. 

He heard Dimitri’s cry rip through him once more, saw the sheer horror on his face as he took in the injuries, when he realised the blood across his face was that of a friend. His fingers clenched tight and he felt Felix shift, sleepily protesting the pressure. 

He shifted closer, ready to reach out and brush his hair when he heard footsteps in the corridor behind him. The sound brought with it the smell of spiced meat and noa fruit and he turned to see Dimitri limp into the room with a misappropriated soldier carrying a steaming tray at his heels. 

‘Thank you.’ He rumbled at his shadow. ‘You can put it on the table, I wont bother you any longer.’ 

‘It is no hardship to serve, your Majesty.’ The soldier snapped to attention, making a smart salute. 

Dimitri nodded, suddenly seeming weary. As the soldier left the only sound in the room was the crackle of the grate. 

‘Is that Teppanyaki?’ Sylvain turned on his stool to face Dimitri. 

He nodded, continuing his slow limp to the room’s second chair. 

‘The kitchens in the guardhouse run all night...I wanted Felix to have something he might want to eat when he wakes...’ 

Dimitri eased himself into the chair as a dog coils before the fire. Under Manuela’s ministrations his legs were mostly healed but they remained stiff, the skin tight over swollen tissue and muscle. He’d removed the bandages across his head revealing a neatly stitched wound running down the edge of his forehead, the skin around it discoloured by bruising bleeding down into the remnants of a black eye. 

They sat staring at one another for longer than felt strictly necessary. Too tired to talk, too tired to eat. Even on days when they didn’t feel exhausted beyond all reason it felt as if there was too much unsaid between them to allow the wheels of a conversation to turn.

Sylvain opened his mouth, some sharp quip ready to spring to his lips when he heard a groan behind him. 

‘I can’t tell whether I want to eat that or vomit all over it.’ Felix’s eyes were slow to open but he already seemed more alert than he had the morning before. 

‘Preferably the former.’ Dimitri sighed, forcing himself back up onto his feet, his knee giving an audible clunk. 

‘You’ve had nothing but sugar water for the last week so I’d really appreciate you trying to eat something.’ Sylvain knew the levity in his tone sounded fake, but to truly allow what he was feeling to colour his words? Now, that really would be dangerous. 

Felix lay very still upon the bed, as if terrified of even considering moving. His gaze was fixed on Sylvain, golden eyes holding an odd, indecisive expression. 

‘Sylvain...’ He paused, nervously wetting his lips. 

Sylvain recognised the indecision for what it was, an inability to know how to ask for help. 

‘Felix, you can’t just glare at me and expect me to know what you want. What do you need?’ He asked, watching Felix’s expression relax. 

‘Did they leave anything for the pain?’ Felix looked away as he spoke, as if he found even admitting to pain shameful in some way. 

Sylvain reached out to grab the bottle from the windowsill, already unstoppering it to bring it to Felix’s lips when his friend flinched. 

‘Slowly...please.’ He breathed. 

Sylvain paused, focusing on his friend, taking in finally the lute chord tension of his shoulders, the muscle tight in his jaw, the sharp lines around his eyes that were the only signs of his agony. 

‘Ok.’ He nodded, shifting his stool closer, slipping his arm gently under Felix’s neck. 

He cupped the back of Felix’s head in one palm, the tendrils of his dark hair slipping over his fingers, and brought the vial to his lips. There was a moment of alarm in Felix’s eyes followed by relief as the pain he feared did not materialise. 

‘Manuela gave me something for nausea...’ Dimitri limped alongside him. ‘I don’t know if that would help you...’ 

Felix’s gaze shifted to Dimitri, becoming guarded as he took in the tall shape of his liege. He nodded somewhat tersely. Dimitri fished the vial from an inner pocket of his cloak, unstoppering it, passing it smoothly to Sylvain. 

‘Only half a finger.’ Dimitri answered the question in his gaze, taking the analgesic from him and carefully placing it back on the sill. ‘We’ll let it work and then try and get you sitting up a little.’ 

Felix seemed to pale a little at the thought and Sylvain took his hand once more. He didn’t resist. 

Felix nodded, his body loosening on the pallet. His hand shifted in Sylvain’s grip, twisting so their fingers interlocked. 

‘Not before you’re ready.’ Sylvain breathed. ‘I promise.’


	3. ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dimitri and Felix learn to talk to one another. A little...as a treat.

‘Felix!’ Dimitri would recognise that voice anywhere. Such a frustrated, passionate voice from someone so small.

He resisted the urge to open his eye and lay as still as he could muster. 

‘Felix, I swear to the Goddess I will scream if you don’t get back into bed.’ Annette huffed. She was over somewhere by the door, and, from the rather violent sigh that followed, Felix was very much not listening. 

He cracked open his eye, taking in the situation with a bemused smile. Annie was more than a good half foot shorter than Felix but she made up for it in sheer frustration alone, filling the doorway with all the intensity of a mother wolf protecting her cubs. 

Felix was scowling but it honestly looked rather half hearted, his left hand bolstered against the doorframe as he swayed. 

‘I need to stretch my legs.’ He bit out, taking a staggering step towards the wall. 

‘Could you not wait until there was at least someone who could keep an eye on you?’ Annie moved a step closer, quite obviously worried that he was going to fall. 

‘I’ve been lying there for hours, I’ll go flat out mad if I stay there a moment longer.’ There was a tight edge to his words. ‘Also, you are here are you not?’ 

‘Felix...’ Annie paused, taking a breath, trying her absolute best not to let her not inconsiderable frustration into her words. ‘I want you to use your eyes for one second and explain to me how you think I would be able to catch you if you fell.’ 

There was silence. 

‘Hmm...’ Felix growled finally and Dimitri found himself fighting a smile that threatened to tear across his face. It was an odd, unfamiliar sensation. 

However, now was probably the right time to try and save poor frustrated Annie. He forced himself to stretch his tight leg muscles with a groan that was only slightly overdone. As expected, both gazes snapped to him. He thought Annie looked relieved, Felix however, well, that was quite an impressive scowl...

He pushed himself up onto the edge of the bed, pulling himself to his feet in a movement that hurt more than he’d like to admit. The flagstones were bitterly cold against his soles as he padded across to the pair, almost having to bend his neck double to meet Annie’s eyes. 

‘Causing trouble, Felix?’ 

‘I don’t need your help.’ Felix spat, refusing to meet his gaze. 

‘Felix, is it all help you’re eschewing, or just mine?’ Dimitri hadn’t meant to put it so bluntly but the words had been out there in the world before he’d even thought to consider them. 

Felix looked at him then. Well, Dimitri caught his gaze from under the fall of his hair. He wondered whether he saw the edge of...doubt...in his expression. 

‘I...I need to go and help Ashe prepare some of the St Cichol cakes...’ Annie extracted herself, seeming somewhat embarrassed to be privy to the awkwardness between what should have been two childhood friends. 

Dimitri let the silence stretch, watching the pained tension in Felix’s shoulders, the narrow edge of cheekbone just visible with his hair loose about his face. 

‘I need to get out of this room...’ Felix stated into the air, his tone defensive. 

Dimitri filled in the words he didn’t say. I’m so desperate to leave this room that I don’t mind if it’s with you. 

‘Ok.’ Dimitri caught the flash of surprise cross Felix’s face. ‘Just let me get my cloak, it’s bloody cold.’ 

As he slung the heavy weight of his cloak about his shoulders he paused to look across to Felix. He took in the thin nightshirt, loose trousers and socks...

‘Do...you want a blanket or something?’ He mumbled. ‘You look cold.’ 

‘I’m fine.’ There was a tight edge to Felix’s voice that brooked no argument. 

Dimitri padded back to his side, resisting the urge to put a bolstering arm under Felix’s shoulders. He wouldn’t thank him for it. 

Felix kept his hand against the wall, taking one slow step after another, gaze fixed upon the ground. Dimitri found his gaze in constant motion, scanning Felix over and over again, looking for any sign that he needed to intervene. 

He took in the heavy splinting on his sword arm, the sling that threw his entire body off balance. Bandages snaked along his left forearm and up his neck, bruising leaving heavy streaks on his exposed skin and shadowing the edge of his jaw. His body seemed almost to curl in upon itself, his spine coiling around the horrific wounds on his abdomen. 

Dimitri found his skin running cold. He found his fingertips beginning to tingle and realised his breaths had become shallow and fast. He settled himself, hoping Felix had seen none of the panic upon his face. He found himself needing to reach out, to press his fingers to Felix’s hair and confirm that he was real, that he was there. 

Felix’s hair hung in lank chains, a fevered sweat coating each of the strands...but Dimitri found himself wanting to coil his fingers through it nevertheless. 

An image struck him, hard enough to almost stop him in his tracks. He saw those same locks, shining with a dark liquid, splayed over his abdomen. Reached out and saw his fingers come away slick with blood. 

‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’ 

Dimitri blinked, the image dissipating with the movement. Felix had stopped, had turned to look at him, a strange, unknowable expression passing over his features. Almost...concern?

‘Just...thinking, that’s all.’ Dimitri replied. Well, it wasn’t quite a lie was it? 

Felix let out a huff of disbelief and continued his slow, steady progress along the corridor. 

It was early morning, still too early for the sun to be visible above the horizon. The corridor was long, empty, flickering light cast by sconces upon the wall. The air held the faint scent of cinnamon and cardamom being kneaded into St Cichol’s eve buns. If not for the slow limp of Felix beside him, for a few breaths he could be forgiven for forgetting he was at war. 

Felix stopped at the end of the corridor, taking a stumbling step into the wall. Dimitri took a step forward, hands raised as if to catch him. Felix shifted from his grasp, pressing his back to the wall. 

Dimitri took a step back, allowing Felix his space, watching a shudder pass through his body. His skin had taken on a greyish pall, a cold sweat visible at his temples. 

‘You...you look quite pale...’ Dimitri murmured, watching Felix’s shoulders shake, pleading with him to ask for help, to allow him to bolster him up. 

‘I’ll be ok...I’ll...’ His legs gave way beneath him and Dimitri only just managed to catch him under the shoulders, unsure where to grab, where wouldn’t cause him pain. 

He eased Felix to the floor, feeling the shivers running through his skin, how cold he felt through the thin nightshirt. He didn’t remember making the decision to take off his cloak, only the process of wrapping Felix’s shuddering form within its warmth. Felix did not object. 

He watched Felix’s fingers dig into the fabric, drawing it tighter around him. His face was half buried in the fur, but his eyes were tight on Dimitri’s face. 

‘Maybe I need some help...’ His voice was low, reluctant, as he spoke. 

‘What help do you need?’ Dimitri knelt before him, trying to hide a smile that threatened to ghost across his lips. The idea that Felix would accept help from him...almost unimaginable. 

‘I don’t think I can stand...’ A tiny, whisper of a voice. 

‘Will...will you allow me to carry you?’ Dimitri asked, unsure what answer he would receive. 

Felix paused, turned his gaze from Dimitri as if suddenly aware of how close they were. But then, from deep within the furs, he gave the tiniest of nods.

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found, screaming about Fire Emblem, at @princeblaiddyd on twitter...yeah, I have no idea how that username was free either.


End file.
